Blazing Castle
by SelimPensFiction
Summary: In "Naked Heat", Nikki Heat learns that Jameson Rook has been writing romance fiction under a pseudonym. In this story, we learn what events in Richard Castle's life inspired that idea.
1. Chapter 1

In _Naked Heat_, Nikki Heat learns that Jameson Rook has been writing romance fiction under a pseudonym. In this story, we learn what events in Richard Castle's life inspired that idea.

* * *

"Now that's better," Kate Beckett thought as she sank into her sofa, wrapped in a thick, terrycloth robe. Just two more things would make it perfect. With her left hand she picked up the tablet and with her right the large glass of Cabernet Sauvignon she'd just poured.

It had been a hard week, with too little sleep, too much coffee, and definitely too many close calls. Her latest case, as Castle had summed up with his typical dry humour, had been a real killer.

Closing her eyes, Beckett sipped the wine. It was complex, with hints of blackcurrant, oak and chocolate. Another sip, and she felt warmth and relaxation start to take hold. Beckett set the glass down, brushed her hair aside, and selected a bookmarked URL on her tablet, a site where independent authors posted all manner of stories.

Tonight was one of _those_ nights. She required complete escape, and nothing less than erotic romance would do. The quality of the stories in that group was… uneven. Some were little more than ill-disguised smut. But you could also find the odd diamond in the rough with fleshed out characters and an interesting story, and this was what drew Beckett back time after time. Well, let's be honest, that and the hot sex.

Browsing the recent posts, one in particular caught her eye. She hadn't seen this author before, and the summary was intriguing:

_The beautiful Detective Church learns that the pen is indeed mightier than the sword, and finds herself guilty of nearly criminal passion_.

Beckett clicked on the link and began to read.

* * *

Criminal Passion

by Nite2Bishop4

Chapter 1

Police training has a way of just kicking in, and really, that's the point. The police were trained to handle many difficult and dangerous situations. And this, thought Brenda Church, was definitely one of them.

She drew her weapon quickly, without thinking, held it in two hands, and positioned her body in the Isosceles stance.

"Drop your weapon," Church said. "Now."

"I don't think so," the man before her said. "I think it's you that'd better lose the piece, or this guy gets a new orifice in his head."

Detective Church had spent the better part of a week investigating multiple, related homicides, following up on one false lead after another, until a break in the case had finally led her here. Not quite in time to prevent this standoff.

The man with the gun was Franklin Beamish, an unemployed former dock worker. He had his thick left arm around the neck of another man, Peter Swift, published author of several best selling mysteries.

Tightening her grip on the pistol, Church's eyes widened slightly when she felt a gun barrel poke into the small of her back.

"Now, what do we have here?" a man's voice rasped. "A pretty girl wants to play cops and robbers. Can I play too?"

Church mentally kicked herself. She hadn't counted on Beamish having an accomplish. All the evidence they'd collected suggested he was operating solo. That thought was interrupted when a hand brushed against her bottom, then, without the slightest hesitation, moved on to caress and squeeze her cheeks. Determined not to let her face redden or show the slightest fear, she said, "Detective Church, NYPD. Stand aside and move to where I can see you."

"Oh, I'll move alright," said the voice.

The gun traveled up the length of Church's spine, to her neck, then the back of her skull. The new gunman then moved beside her, sliding the gun across her head until it came to rest on her temple.

"Now, drop your weapon," the man said.

Church considered her options. None of them were good. She let her gun drop to the floor.

"That's better. Now, just stand right there. Don't move an inch."

The man's left hand moved to the front of Church's ivory silk blouse and started undoing buttons.

"Aw, c'mon, Leo, we don't got time for this," Beamish said, his gun still pressed against Swift's head.

"Sure we do," said Leo. "All the time in the world."

Leo's hand moved inside of Church's blouse, outside of her bra, feeling around her left breast, then her right. The blood was definitely rushing to her head now, Church thought.

Leo's hand then ducked inside her bra, squeezing the warm flesh and playing with the nipple. Church considered playing along, acting like it was a turn on for her. Not such a stretch, in truth, as she had fantasized about situations like this. But fantasy was one thing; this was another. These men were cold blooded killers. And if she didn't do something, she and Swift were likely to be their next victims.

It was at this point that Swift spoke up. Church had noticed that his hand was busy in his pocket. The two criminals, distracted as they were, clearly hadn't. What was he up to?

"Well, you know what writers say," said Swift.

"Yeah?" said Beamish. "And what's that?"

"The pen is mightier than the sword, of course," said Swift.

With that, Swift touched the fountain pen he had withdrawn from his pocket and a spray of ink caught Leo right in the face. Then, while Beamish was momentarily surprised, Swift stabbed the tip into his captor's abdomen.

Church took advantage of the distraction to elbow Leo in the gut, then deliver a swift uppercut to his jaw. Then she stepped forward and kicked at Beamish's head, knocking him out cold.

Swift moved away from Beamish as Church scooped up her gun and picked up the pistol Leo had dropped.

"I've got this guy," Church said, pulling handcuffs from her pocket. "Swift, can you do the honours?"

"My pleasure, Detective," said Swift.

After applying the handcuffs, Swift said, "That was some nice work."

"I was going to say the same to you," said Church. She appraised Swift as he stood in front of her, with his thick mane of dark, curly hair, broad chest, and muscular arms shown to good effect in a white short-sleeved shirt. He was scarcely breathing hard, and seemed almost unphased by his ordeal.

"I owe you one," said Church. "I… hope you let me express my gratitude sometime."

Swift grinned. "You took the words right out of my mouth, Detective."

"Brenda," said Church. "Brenda Church."

"Well, Brenda," said Swift, stepping closer to her, "it seems this might be the start of a beautiful friendship."

* * *

As Beckett set down the tablet, she noticed she'd drained her glass of wine. Then she realized that, while she was reading, her left hand had moved inside her robe and was playing with her right nipple. She bit her lower lip and stopped, setting the glass on the coffee table.

Good story. She was anxious to see where it went next. Funny thing was, it felt vaguely familiar. Then she remembered that she and Castle had recently been in a similar situation, with him held hostage by a gunman while Beckett, also armed, tried to talk him down. It hadn't exactly played out the same but still… Well, it was a small world.

A thought occurred to her. Beckett enjoyed reading these stories once in a while. Why not try her hand at writing one? How hard could it be? Certainly, she had no experience with fiction, but she'd written more reports over the years than she could count, and had been praised for their conciseness and lucidity. Sure, why not? All she needed to do was to let a story come to her.

In the meantime, for now, a nice hot soak in some scented bubbles seemed just the thing. And it might be a good time to look for her favourite bathtub toys.

* * *

A/N

Needless to say, doesn't exist. Though perhaps it should...


	2. Chapter 2

"They don't pay me enough for this," thought Richard Castle as he leaned back in the chair in his office and sighed.

"Oh, right. They don't pay me at all."

What a case. What a day. Just another day at the 12th. Still, it was all in the name of his next novel. Or was it more than that? Castle shook his head. "Don't go there," he thought.

Speaking of the next novel, really, it was time to get serious. It's just that it was hard to find the right inspiration. Why was that? There'd been so many interesting cases since _Heat Wave_. The vampire case would be fun. How about a hive of wannabe werewolves operating out of the sewers of New York, locked in an ancient gang war with wannabe vampires. On second thought, maybe not.

It _has_ been an interesting year, Castle thought as he looked back. Call girls, a dominatrix…

Then Castle started to chuckle as he remembered the recent corporate blackmail case. Talk about hot stuff. Employees of a high-end escort service would infiltrate multinational corporations, get cosy with the executives, especially the married ones, and, armed with suitable blackmail photographs, obtain corporate secrets, strategies, and upcoming patents. Stuff that was worth millions to the right buyer. Oh, the naughty things you could get up to in the corporate conference room late at night.

OK, so maybe not suitable for a Nikki Heat caper. Still, he felt his creative juices starting to flow. If not Nikki Heat, there was always GrateReeds. That was turning into not too bad a gig. Bereft of inspiration, Castle had found that writing something completely different was a great way to recharge the batteries. And in the safety of complete anonymity. No disgruntled fans, no hand-wringing publishers.

Hmm. Castle opened a file on his laptop and started to write: Rook as a romance writer on the side?

He probably wouldn't use it, but never throw away an idea, no matter how silly it may seem at the time.

Meanwhile, he hadn't read anyone else's work on GrateReeds in a while. Always good to support your fellow writer. Castle navigated to the site and perused the latests posts.

There was one summary that caught his eye right away.

_Detective Ryan Montgomery faces a difficult decision: stay loyal to his wife, or indulge in the forbidden depths of his all too beautiful assistant._

He decided to have a look.

* * *

Forbidden Depths

by LvTheP0lise

Chapter 1

Detective Ryan Montgomery was caucasian, 6 feet 1 inch, 185 pounds, with brown eyes and dark, wavy hair. He ran a finger over his wedding ring as he watched his assistant, Debra, file some reports in the cabinet. Over the past few days, he'd found it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes off of her. That wasn't like him at all. His eyes almost never wandered. In six years of marriage, he'd scarcely looked at another woman. Until Debra came along.

"There's something about her," Montgomery thought.

Debra Wright was 5 foot 4 inches, 120 pounds, mixed race with skin slightly darker than caucasian, brown eyes and black hair. She was wearing a tan-coloured dress of lightweight fabric that was suitable for office work, yet revealing in just the right places.

Wright bent over, filing some case reports away, her back towards the detective.

"I've almost got him," Wright thought as she smiled to herself. "Tonight might be the night." But her smile faded as quickly as it had arrived. "Trouble is, I think I like this one. And I mean, _really_ like."

This was a new situation for Wright. She'd infiltrated many organizations in the past, had seduced many men of importance, and had the photos to prove it. It was a job, had always been just a job. Until this assignment.

Montgomery was such a _decent_ man. And he was interested in her. Not just her figure, but in what she thought about the news, his coworkers, even _Game of Thrones_. Then there was the fact that he was so good looking and fit. At the age of forty, he looked much younger. He clearly worked out regularly, and his face had an attractive lean, chiseled look.

He'd resisted her much longer than any other of her "clients". That was attractive too in a way. Sweet. He was one of the few men she'd met who actually felt happy to be married.

Wright sighed. Just the same, a job was a job. It was time she got on with it.

Checking his watch, Montgomery groaned inwardly when he saw the time: 11:30. The wife would be in bed already, and he'd been too busy to even think about calling. Things were going to be frosty in the morning.

Well, the report was just about finished. He glanced over it one more time. The Captain was very particular about case reports. Too much detail or too little and you'd find the report back in your inbox, annotated in some very colourful ways. Hopefully he'd found the right balance with this one.

He was about to logout of his computer when Debra came over. Montgomery's eyes widened as she sat herself down on the corner of his desk and crossed her legs, apparently unaware that in so doing she exposed a considerable expanse of bare thigh inches from his face. Montgomery gulped and found his hand trembling. He considered sitting on it so it wouldn't do something he'd regret later.

"So how's that report coming?" Debra asked, her face full of innocence. Montgomery couldn't help notice, though, that there was a hunger in those deep, dark eyes, and her chest was rising and falling more quickly than usual. She leaned down slightly and twisted, apparently interested in the report on the computer screen. Purely by chance, this movement brought her breasts closer until they brushed his shoulder.

Unselfconsciously, Debra sat up straight, swishing her long hair behind her with a movement of her head as she did so.

"Anything else I can do for you tonight?" she asked.

Feeling his control slipping, and a growing strain against his trousers, Montgomery shook his head. He cleared his throat and said, "No, really, thanks. You've been great. Thanks so much for staying late."

"It's no trouble, Ry," she said. "Always a pleasure. You treat me so well, it's the least I can do. You should see some of the men I've worked for." She shook her head and smiled. "I'd do anything to help, you know that."

As she locked her eyes with his, Montgomery felt perspiration collecting on his forehead, and felt his control starting to slip. Those eyes. That skin…

His hand, which had been trembling, finally started to move as if on its own accord until it came to rest lightly on Debra's thigh.

Watching her face with concern, Montgomery breathed a sigh of relief when Debra's eyes closed and she bit her lower lip.

He squeezed the warm flesh gently, then slowly started to move upwards, underneath her dress. Placing both hands behind her on the desk, Debra leaned back, uncrossed her legs and spread them slightly.

By now, Montgomery had lost all control. He was all hers.

* * *

Castle took a gulp of air. He'd scarcely breathed as he read the story. It was hot. Looking down, he thought, "Talk about a growing strain against his trousers."

Then another thought occurred to him. The story could have been based on the same case he'd just been thinking of.

And wait a minute. Ryan? Montgomery?

No way. Was LvTheP0lise someone in the 12th? Castle scrolled up again to the first couple of paragraphs. "Hmm," he thought. "Reads almost like a case report."

Now he was sure. The story had been written by someone at the precinct. But who?


	3. Chapter 3

Two coffees in hand, Castle stepped out of the elevator and surveilled the scene at the 12th Precinct. It was the typical morning bustle, with officers, detectives and assistants moving helter skelter, barking orders, signing reports, and working cases.

"It's someone in here," Castle thought. "And I bet I know who."

Someone had written that story on GrateReeds. Someone with inside knowledge. Someone more used to writing case reports than fiction. Someone like...

"Thanks, bro," said Esposito as he helped himself to one of the coffees. "Appreciate the sentiment."

"Um," Castle started, "actually..."

"Don't sweat it. Beckett's on training today. So's Ryan. Just me holding down the fort today. And you, if you're in."

"As always," said Castle. "What's on the menu today?"

Just then, Roy Montgomery poked his head out of his office and beckoned for Esposito.

"Tell you soon as I know," said Esposito.

A few minutes later, Castle was riding shotgun while Esposito drove an unmarked car to the location of a dead body that had been spotted by a patrolman.

"Say," said Castle. "That case from the other day. The one with the sex workers infiltrating corporations. Quite something, wasn't it?"

"I'll say," Esposito chuckled. "Talk about compromising positions."

"It'd make for a great story, don't you think? A Great Read in fact."

"If you say so," said Esposito. "You're the writer."

"Ever think of trying it yourself?" Castle asked. "Dabbling at story telling? Maybe at some online forum where no one knows you?"

"You kidding?" Esposito chuckled. "It's all I can do to put together my reports. Naw, that sort of thing is _way_ outta my league. Tell you what. You take care of the writing, and I'll deal with the police work."

"Fair enough," Castle said. He had one more card up his sleeve. On GrateReeds, the story metadata included the date and time of posting, down to the minute. And it so happened that there was a Mets game on TV right about then.

"Say, Espo," Castle said. "You catch the Mets game the other day? I meant to but got caught up with my writing."

"Nope, missed it myself. Had to speak to one of the high schools about crime prevention. It was in one of 'those' neighbourhoods. Figured I could just about arrest half the kids in the audience. I didn't know you were a big ball fan."

"Oh, off and on, I guess," said Castle.

After stewing for a while, Castle thought, "That lets Esposito off the hook. So take away him, Ryan, and Montgomery, and who does that leave?

"No. No way."

* * *

The following week, Castle fired up his laptop after dinner and perused the latest posts on GrateReeds.

The victim that he and Esposito had investigated, a 23 year old woman dressed in expensive clothing and shoes, had been shot once in the middle of the forehead, execution style.

Beckett and Ryan joined the case the following day. Lanie confirmed that the gunshot was the cause of death. The victim's fingerprints were in the system from an arrest for solicitation. Melanie Campbell owned an expensive Central Park condo where, as a high-end call girl, she entertained the rich and famous. More than once, Beckett had to shush Castle, Ryan, and Esposito as they chortled over the role-playing outfits in Campbell's closets, including nurses uniforms, S&amp;M leather, a Zorro costume, and a cheerleader's sweater and skirt.

"Do men _ever_ grow up?" Beckett muttered.

"I'm just wondering if Medicare covered their visits with Nurse Campbell," offered Castle, prompting guffaws from Esposito and Ryan.

This prompted Beckett to fix Castle with a glare so frigid that he felt goose bumps forming on his skin.

"Moving right along..." he said.

There were computer cables in the bedroom, but no sign of a computer, tablet or cell phone. Nor was there any paper documentation of Campbell's schedule or the names of clients she had seen recently.

Fortunately, Ryan later discovered a directory in the cloud belonging to Campbell. A file called READ ME included the following note:

_If you're reading this, and you're not me, then I'm likely dead and you're probably the police. This directory contains the list of all my clients and schedule. Go get 'em._

Castle shook his head. "She was nobody's fool," he said. "Guess the curriculum for hitmen should include a course in cloud technology."

The murder weapon had been found in a dumpster near Campbell's building. The outside had been wiped clean, but the cartridge contained partial prints that matched a New York City Councillor on Campbell's client list. When confronted, the councillor broke down and admitted that he was about to make a run for Mayor and that Campbell would have been a liability.

Case closed.

Or was it? Thing is, this case could inspire a pretty hot GrateReeds post. Castle was tempted, but wanted to see if LvTheP0lise came through.

And… Bingo!

_In which Nurse Adams finds that her patient has an usual growth. What course of treatment_ _will she recommend_?

* * *

Nurse Adams Treats a Growth

by LvTheP0lise

Chapter 1

Nurse Adams smiled when the doorbell rang. Caucasian, five foot three, 125 pounds, she was auburn-haired with blue eyes and a devastating smile, a smile that had melted the heart of more than one client. It was one of the things that kept them coming back. That and, well, the other things.

She was dressed in a crisp, white uniform that didn't quite meet hospital standards. For one thing, it fit very snugly. For another, the top was cut very low, providing a revealing view of much of her upper breasts. And finally, it was very short, covering perhaps only the top third of her thighs. Her shoes weren't regulation either. They were white, but with stiletto heels.

After examining herself in the full-length mirror, Nurse Adams smoothed her uniform, picked up a clipboard, then walked to the door and opened it a crack. Recognizing her guest, she smiled and welcomed him.

"Just in time for your appointment," she said, checking off a box on the clipboard. "Come right in."

"Hiya babe," said Rene Davidson. He was a well known and very wealthy real estate developer. African American, 5 feet 11 inches, 180 pounds, in decent shape but with some extra bandwidth in the midsection, he had close cropped hair and very well manicured fingernails. His dark suit was immaculate, complemented by an expensive Breitling watch.

"So you're a nurse today? Awesome," Davidson said as he surveilled the room. It was set out just like a Doctor's examining room, with gurney, bottles of solutions, trays of scissors, bandages and tape, shelves full of forms, and stacks of towels and hospital gowns.

"Now, Mr. Davidson, if you'd like to hang up your jacket here, that's right, just come over and have a seat," said Nurse Adams, indicating the gurney.

Davidson sat on the gurney. When Nurse Adams approached him, he ran his finger lightly over her exposed breasts.

With a look of mock outrage, Nurse Adams slapped Davidson's wrist.

"Mr. Davidson, please!" she said. "Hands!"

Davidson grinned. "Sorry," he said. "Nurse."

"Well, that's better. Now then. You're due for a _complete_ physical today. So let's get started. We'll unbutton your shirt so we can listen to your heart. You do have a heart, don't you?"

"You bet. And it's all yours, sweetheart," Davidson said.

"I'm sure I've no idea what you mean," said Adams, batting her eyes and smiling shyly.

With a couple of deft moves, Nurse Adams removed his tie then unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it wide open. She ran her hands slowly over his collarbone, chest, then down to his stomach and back again.

"My," she said breathlessly, her eyes wide. "You _do_ seem to be in good shape, Mr. Davidson."

"Maybe," Davidson said. "To be honest, I'm starting to feel kind of hot and bothered."

"Then we'd better get to the bottom or that," said Nurse Adams. "First I need to get my stethoscope."

Walking across the room, Nurse Adams had to bend over the counter to reach her stethoscope hanging on the wall before her. In so doing, her dress rode up, revealing see-through white lace panties.

Davidson gulped.

"There!" said Nurse Adams when she finally grasped it. Adjusting her dress shyly, she said, "Now where were we? Oh yes."

She came back and placed the stethoscope on Davidson's chest. After listening for a moment, she said, "Good news, Mr. Davidson. It seems you're healthy as a horse. Want to hear for yourself?"

Holding the chestpiece in place with one hand, she passed the eartips to Davidson with the other.

"Yup, there it is," he said with a grin. Then his eyes widened slightly and he added, "Now, how about I listen to yours. Just for comparison. In the interest of science, you know."

Nurse Adams paused to consider. "I don't know," she said. "It's highly irregular. But if it's in the interest of science, then... sure, why not."

Davidson placed the chestpiece just above Nurse Adams' left breast. "Hmm," he said. "I wonder what it sounds like down here. I think further examination is called for."

And with that, he undid the top few buttons on Nurse Adams dress until it was open to her waist. Then he pushed the material aside, took her right breast in his left hand, to anchor himself, he told her, and placed the chestpiece here and there around her left breast.

"I think your bra might be blocking the sound a bit. What say we take it off so I can get a better listen? In the interest of science, of course."

"Well, OK," said Nurse Adams. "Who am I to interfere with the cause of science?"

Davidson set down the stethoscope and reached around behind her to undo the clasp of her thin, white bra. Pushing it up out of the way, he helped himself to her breasts with both hands, gently squeezing and running his thumbs around her nipples.

"You've got such warm, manly hands," murmured Nurse Adams. "Wait a minute," she said. "What's this? There's an unusual growth in your pants."

She moved her hand gently over the bulge in his pants, squeezing it from the base up to the tip.

"I think we'd better investigate," she said. And with that, she unfastened his belt and unzipped his pants.

"Oh my," she said. "I've never seen a growth as big as this before. What should we do?" she said.

"I'll tell you," said Davidson. He lowered himself from the gurney and directed Nurse Adams to lean forward over it. After lifting her dress, he ran his hands over her smooth cheeks, then lowered her underwear and moved closer. Grasping her breast in his left hand, he moved his right hand around her thigh and found where she was moist and warm. Finally, he entered her. He didn't move for a moment, relishing the feeling, then began to thrust while stimulating Nurse Adams sensitive spot with his right hand, until they both reached a glorious climax and cried out together.

Minutes later, they were sitting side-by-side on the gurney, arms around each other.

"Honestly, Rene," Jean Adams said, "sometimes I think I should be the one paying you."

Davidson chuckled. "We make a great team, Jean, don't we? Fact is, I've been wanting to talk to you about that."

"Yes?" said Adams.

"I've got a lot of plans for this city. Lot's of things I'd like to do. But lately, City Hall's been blocking me at every turn. I think it's time I took a run for the Mayor's job. And I'd like to have you by my side. What do you say?"

"Seriously?" said Adams. "Run for mayor with a girl like me on your arm? That'll go over well."

"I've got people for that," said Davidson. "They can come up with a backstory for you, documentation, everything you need. You'd be clean as a whistle. What do you say?"

Adams was silent for a while. Then she said, "Why, Rene? What are you really after? If you just want me to keep quiet, you know you can count on me."

"Jean, darling," said Davidson. "I know that. Though if I couldn't, I've got people for that, too."

"They'd get rid of me, you mean," said Adams. "Rene, have you ever heard of the cloud?"

"Clouds in the sky? Or do you mean _the_ cloud?"

"I mean _the_ cloud. I've got files up there. Files no one can touch but me. Anything happens to me, the police will have those files."

Davidson laughed. "Jean, you're the most amazing woman I know. The only one's ever been a match for me. I'm asking for real. Will you marry me?"

Adams pulled away from Davidson and looked steadily in his eyes until she was satisfied. "You _are_ serious," she said. "In that case…" she paused for effect, then grinned and said, "Yes!"

"That's my girl," said Davidson, and they kissed long and hard, and made love to each other again.

Some time later, with his arm around his new fiance, Davidson said, "Hmmm."

"What is it, babe?" said Adams.

"Oh, I was just wondering. Do you think Medicare would pick up the bill for today?"

* * *

"Gotcha!" said Richard Castle.

Good Lord, it _was_ Beckett after all. He laughed to himself, shaking his head with disbelief. But what to do about it?

Castle grinned malevolently as a thought occurred to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Castle yawned as he set down two coffees on Beckett's desk and took a seat.

"Long night?" Beckett asked, taking one of the coffees. "Thanks, by the way."

"No problem," said Castle. "And yes, a long night. Spent most of it writing. I was in the _zone_."

After taking a sip of coffee, Castle continued.

"I have an idea for the next Nikki Heat book," he said.

"Do tell," said Beckett.

"Picture this," Castle began. "Nikki Heat, the cool, matter-of-fact detective on the exterior, is a furnace of passion on the interior, whiling away her solitary evenings with romance novels. Unbeknownst to her, her favourite author is none other than Jameson Rook, Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, writing under a pseudonym."

Beckett raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"No? Then how about this: Nikki Heat, seeking to escape the humdrum realities of her day-to-day life, takes up the pen and tries her hand at writing romance fiction herself."

"Oh, I don't know, Castle," said Beckett. As her cheeks started to colour, she turned her head towards her paperwork. "That seems to a little far-fetched, even for you."

"You think so?" said Castle. "What about you, Detective Beckett? You've never had the urge to express your secret, romantic desires in the safety of anonymity online? Not even once?"

Beckett stared levelly at Castle. "Not even…"

Just then the phone rang, and Castle smiled as he caught Beckett's sigh of relief.

* * *

Beckett poured a glass of wine and settled down on her couch. The 12th was so understaffed, it was almost impossible to keep up. Not one to take it easy on herself, she was nevertheless starting to ponder some leave to recharge her batteries.

Still, for tonight, there was always GrateReeds. Beckett put the glass down and opened her laptop.

Ah. Here was another story by Nite2Bishop4. His last one was pretty good. Beckett clicked on the link.

_When the sexual tension between a man and a woman working together remains unresolved, they become Partners in Crime!_

* * *

Partners in Crime

by Nite2Bishop4

Chapter 1

The moon hung in the night sky like a lucky silver dollar. I wasn't looking for no portents, but there it was. And here _I_ was, midnight, smoking a fag on a dark, empty street, looking up at the light streaming from the windows of my office. Cath was still at work.

I took a last drag of the cigarette and flicked it into the sewer. I still had the magazine in my raincoat pocket. I took it out one more time. I had to be sure. There was a lot riding on tonight.

_Dark Detective_. The cover of this month's issue featured a buxom red-head, her green dress having fallen off her shoulders so we could see just how buxom she was. She was on her knees, pleading to man dressed in a tux, hair slicked back, thin mustache. He had a rod in his hands, and it wasn't clear if he was pointing it at the broad or someone behind her.

I looked in the table of contents, and there it was, a story called "Not Even My Sister" by Carl Watson. Except I knew that Carl Watson didn't exist. I knew that because the story was close to a case that Cath and I had worked a few months back. Too close. It had details that only us two could have known. We hadn't told the cops everything. They wouldn't have believed us. But apparently what's too crazy for a police report is just fine for a rag like this.

Cath Wayne was my partner. Shuster &amp; Wayne Detective Agency we called the business. Most people thought Cath was my secretary, and we let them go on believing it, but the fact was that Cath was a better detective than me. And thinking that she was just a secretary, and a pretty one at that, doors opened for us that would've otherwise stayed closed. People talked to a pretty dame. Boasted. Gave things away, including their heart.

I wouldn't know anything about that, now would I?

Cath hadn't been smart. Not this time. She must've figured no one would trace this back to her, that I'd never read a rag like this.

She was wrong.

I kept a flask in my jacket pocket for times like this. I took a swig, felt the whisky burn down my throat, then opened the ground floor door and walked up the steps to our offices. The stairwell was dimly lit and the old wooden steps creaked. As I neared the second floor, I could see the light shining from under the office door. The other offices were dark. An insurance broker and a lawyer were down the corridor from us. Lawyers are crooks, but this one came in handy from time to time. Insurance brokers, well, they're crooks too, and I've never had the time or need for one.

After opening the door to our outer office, I took off my hat and raincoat and hung them up on the coat rack. Besides the coatrack there were four chairs, two on one wall, two on another. Set on a table in the corner were a stack of magazines and a lamp that provided the only light in the room. The walls were painted a sickly yellow that I'd never liked but hadn't gotten around to changing. The only decorations were a couple of faded, knock-off still lifes.

The inner office door was partly open. I sauntered in with a smile on my face .

We had two desks, a bookcase and a couple of filing cabinets. Standing lamps by the desks lit the room pretty well. The shades were still open. Cath was sitting at her desk. She looked up at me.

"Still here?" I asked, as I closed the shades.

"Nothing gets by you, Rick, does it?" Cath said.

Catherine Wayne was a brunette, slim, with rich, shoulder length hair parted on one side, blue eyes, and full lips accentuated by the red lipstick she must have applied not long before. She was wearing a blue, short-sleeved dress that fell to mid-calf over dark nylons.

Tapping the end of her cigarette in an ashtray on her desk, Cath gave me an appraising look.

"You're in a good mood."

"You know me, doll. Maybe I'm looking forward to taking my share of the invoice down to Tony's."

Cath shook her head. "Wise up, Rick. Stay away from Tony's or you'll stay broke the rest of your life."

"A guy's gotta get lucky sometime."

"No, Rick, he doesn't."

"Here," I said. "Let me show you something that might change your mind."

I went back to the outer office, then returned with the magazine and dropped it on Cath's desk in front of her.

Cath turned two shades paler. "What's this?" she asked.

"You tell me," I said.

"Its… a magazine, that's all," she said with lowered eyelids. Her voice quivered slightly.

"A magazine with a story by Carl Watson. You know him by any chance?"

"No," said Cath, looking up at me at last. Her eyes were large, imploring. "Should I?"

"Don't play games with me, Sweetheart. You know as well as I do that _you're_ Carl Watson. CW. The story included details of the Buford case. Details only you and I could know."

"OK," said Cath. She took a long drag from her cigarette, then put it out in the ashtray. She was a cool customer, alright. She managed to keep her hands from shaking.

"OK, it was me. Thought I'd have a bit of fun, that's all. There's no harm in a bit of fun, is there? I didn't hurt anyone."

"This magazine is full of smut and you know it. Yours more than the rest. I can only imagine your papa's reaction when he finds out."

"Rick!" Cath rose to her feet. "You wouldn't. You wouldn't tell him."

"He's a preacher, isn't he? Feeds his congregation real fire and brimstone stuff. Tells them every week what happens to sinners, those who stray from the path of virtue." I shook my head. "It's going to be real hard on him. And you."

Cath moved to the front of the desk and sat on the edge, in front of me.

"Rick, you wouldn't. Not after all we've been through. Why? Why would you do something like this?"

I looked at her levelly, sizing her up. It was time to make my move.

"Why wouldn't I? What's in it for me to keep quiet?"

Cath lowered her head. "Well, what do you want, Rick?"

I took hold of her chin, tilted her head up, and moved closer so our noses were practically touching. "You, Sweetheart. I want you. All of you. You know what I mean?"

I let her go of her and backed away a step. She lowered her head again.

"Yes, I know what you mean. You disappoint me, Rick. I thought you were a better man than that."

I said nothing, just stood there looking at her. She lifted her head again and said, "If I do what you want, you'll keep quiet? You won't tell Pappa?"

"I'll keep quiet alright. You have my word."

"You don't have to do this, you know," Cath said.

"I do, you see. It's the only way a guy like me could ever get close to a girl like you."

I moved forward and cupped her cheek with my hand. Then I slid my hand down her check, her neck, to her chest, stopping at the top of her dress. Her skin electrified me. It was soft, warm, and seemed to practically glow. A real hunger started to take over.

Cath did nothing to stop me, so I continued. I undid a button on the top of her dress. Still nothing. So I undid some more and pulled the top of her dress open. Then I took the hem of her dress and lifted it up, brushing my hands along her nylons along the way, until they came to the bare flesh above.

My god, she felt good. I was almost beyond control. But just then, Cath started to laugh. A long, loud, riotous laugh.

I backed away again and looked at her.

"What're you laughing for? Ticklish?"

"Sure, Rick. You tickled my funny bone."

"What're you talking about?"

Then Cath really took me by surprise. She grabbed hold of my tie and pulled me close.

"For a detective, you're a big, dumb palooka, you know that?"

She let that sink in for a minute, then let go of me and said, "You couldn't tell a woman's in love with a man, not even if she screamed it in your ear."

I staggered backwards. "You don't mean…"

"Yes," said Cath. "I'm in love with you, you lummox. Have been for ages. Why do you think I wrote that story? I couldn't just come out and tell you. A girl doesn't do that. But I knew you read that magazine. Don't look so surprised, I knew it perfectly well. You think I'm going to go into business with a man and not know everything about him? So I wrote the story to give you the opportunity to do… this." She grasped her open dress with both hands, pulling it closed, covering herself again.

"You thought you had no chance with me. Well, I'll take that as a complement. But now you know different."

I looked closely at her, uncertain whether she was on the level, or just wanted me to keep quiet. You could never tell with a dame. All I knew right then was, it didn't matter either way.

"Come here," she said, pulling me close again and letting her dress fall open. "I want to feel your hands on me."

I obliged.

* * *

Beckett closed her laptop and blinked.

"Oh. My. God," Beckett thought. Nite2Bishop4 is Castle. And he knows. For sure, he knows. That explains the veiled hints at the precinct this morning. But why the story? Is it a message? If so, what's he trying to say?

Beckett's eyes widened.

Uh oh.

THE END

(OR IS IT?)


	5. Chapter 5

Years passed. Richard Castle and Katherine Beckett were married, then after Castle was barred from collaborating with the NYPD, he started his own detective agency.

And in all those years, neither Beckett nor Castle mentioned GrateReeds, or the stories penned by Nite2Bishop4 and LvTheP0lise. No more stories by those authors were posted. This was to Beckett's great relief.

The only hint that the exchange had ever taken place was in the publication of _Naked Heat_, in which readers learned that Jameson Rook had secretly been writing romance novels under a pseudonym, and that Nikki Heat had read them without realizing the identity of the author.

* * *

"Something's wrong with this picture," said Castle after he downed a cup of coffee and placed the mug in the dishwasher.

"I'm heading out to the office, and you're still in your pajamas."

"I don't know, I kind of like this picture," Beckett said. "In fact, I could get used to it. But if it makes you feel better, I'll be working too. If I can write my reports just as well from home as at the office, why not?"

"Hmm," Castle said, bending down to kiss her. "Well, at least I don't have to worry about you while you're here. As long as you can stay safe from my mother."

"Martha? You remember, she'll be helping out with the auditions for that new Broadway musical today."

Beckett looked Castle up and down and frowned.

"What?" Castle asked.

"Something's missing," said Beckett. "If you're going to be a private detective, you need to look the part."

Beckett got up, went to a closet, and returned with a white cardboard box tied with a red bow.

"What's this?" Castle asked, taking the box with a puzzled look.

"The something that's missing," said Beckett. "Go ahead, open it."

Castle untied the bow, opened the box gingerly, then grinned and took out a grey fedora.

"It's perfect," he said, placing it on his head.

Beckett approached, tilted the fedora a bit to one side, then kissed him.

"There. _Now_ you're ready to go to the office," she said. "And at long last, I have my own private dick."

Castle's eyes widened, then he grinned.

"Well then, Mrs Castle," said Castle, running his hand along the rim of his new hat, "I'll see you tonight."

After a quick kiss, Castle opened the door and left with a goodbye wave. Beckett smiled and waved back, then closed the door.

"Yes," she said to herself. "Yes you will."

* * *

It was approaching midnight when Castle, hands stuffed in his pants pockets, shuffled down the deserted street towards his office. Besides his footsteps, the only sounds were the odd taxi speeding by and car horns in the distance. The song of New York City.

"What a sap I am," Castle muttered. "Out alone on a cold, dark street when I could be snuggled in bed with the most beautiful woman in existence."

But, there was paperwork to be done, and best to do it while the case was still fresh. With a resigned sigh, Castle glanced up at his office window.

The light was on.

Had he left it on? No, definitely not. "Well, Mr. Detective," thought Castle, "this is certainly worth investigating."

Castle entered the building silently and crept up the stairs, avoiding the elevator which would have made too much noise. He wanted to take whoever it was by surprise.

Reaching the office, Castle saw that the door was open a crack. Steadying himself, he counted to three then burst in. And there, sitting at his desk, he found,

"Beckett?"

Beckett looked up from her work.

"Nothing gets by you, Rick, does it?" she said, putting out the cigarette that was burning in the ashtray.

Castle opened his mouth, but no sounds came out. He took off his hat and tossed it aside.

As Beckett stood, his eyes started to bulge. Her hair was different, parted on the right side instead of the centre. It fell straight and full. She was adorned with red lipstick and wore a blue, short-sleeved dress that fell to mid-calf over dark nylons.

With a gulp, Castle realized she looked just like…

"Kath," she said as she got to her feet, moved slowly to the front of the desk, and seated herself. "Call me Kath, with a 'K'."

"With a 'K'," Castle mumbled, his eyes still bulging as he gazed at Beckett from head to toe and back again.

Kath looked Rick in the eye. "You know something, don't you?" she said. "You wised up to me. Figured I was the one writing those stories."

"Um, stories," Castle repeated, slowly coming out of his daze.

"OK, it was me," said Kath. "Thought I'd have a bit of fun, that's all. There's no harm in a bit of fun, is there? I didn't hurt anyone."

Castle thought to himself, "Oh. My. God. My fantasy. It's coming true! This is really happening."

Clearing his throat, Castle said, "That… website was full of smut. Your stories more than the rest. I can only imagine what folks at the 12th will say when they find out."

"Rick, you wouldn't," Kath implored. "Not after all we've been through. Why? Why would you do something like this?"

"Why wouldn't I? What's in it for me to keep quiet?"

Kath lowered her head. "Well, what do you want, Rick?"

Taking hold of her chin and tilting her head up, Rick said, "You, Sweetheart. I want you. All of you. You know what I mean?"

Rick let her go of her and backed away a step. Kath lowered her head again.

"Yes, I know what you mean. You disappoint me, Rick. I thought you were a better man than that."

Rick said nothing. Kath lifted her head again and said, "If I do what you want, you'll keep quiet? You won't tell anyone?"

"I'll keep quiet alright. You have my word."

"You don't have to do this, you know," Kath said.

Rick's hands were starting to tremble and his face was flushed. "I do, you see. It's the only way a guy like me could ever get close to a girl like you."

After that, Rick lost control. He took Kath's face in his hands and kissed her, hard and long. Kath responded, pulling him closer still, clinging to the back of his head. When they broke for breath, they started undoing buttons.

When Rick's shirt was off and Kath's dress was open and her bra removed, they started to kiss again, hungrily, devouring each other, hands exploring and caressing. Rick lifted the bottom of Kath's dress up over the top of her thighs, revealing pale, glowing skin beyond her nylons. Kath undid Rick's zipper and belt, let his trousers fall, then guided him into her as she settled backward on the desk.

His movements were like thunder, and her cries like the crack of lightning, until finally the storm crested, then subsided, and the two lovers lay beside each other on top of the desk.

After holding each other for a time, Castle said, "Thank you. You're the most amazing woman there is."

"Glad you know it," Beckett said lightly, holding him a bit closer. "You never did tell anyone about those stories. Thank _you_."

"A gentleman to the core, that's me," Castle said.

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Beckett.

"Fair enough. After all, I wasn't so gentlemanly as to resist torturing you with insinuation."

Another interval passed, and Castle said, "I just had a thought."

"Oh?"

"It involves a nurse's uniform."

Beckett slapped his bum lightly.

"Ow! So that's a no, then?"

"That's a.. maybe," said Beckett smiling broadly.

THE END.

SERIOUSLY.


End file.
